


Just a Little Tired

by hannah_baker



Series: Kind of a Thing [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, kind of a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:46:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_baker/pseuds/hannah_baker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, I’m done with this for now,” Stiles said, voice full of annoyance as he turned and started walking out of the kitchen, heading toward his bedroom - where Derek still wasn’t allowed to be.</p>
<p>“You can’t just walk away-” Derek started before being cut off.</p>
<p>“Yes. Yes I can."</p>
<p>Wherein Stiles has trouble sleeping and it starts to effect his personal life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Little Tired

John Stilinski was surprised to arrive home after a god awful day at the station to a driveway that had a Camaro in it, but no Jeep. It was Wednesday night, the official mandatory dinner night at the Stilinski house, which meant that both boys’ cars usually graced the front of his house.

He parked his own car in the garage and paused at the door into the kitchen, the blast of screaming keeping him at bay. He flinched as he caught a portion of the fight.

“-- treating me like a goddam baby!” he heard Stiles shout, angry and noxious, poisonous. John had never seen Stiles upset at Derek beyond a bit of a pout. The _hell_ had happened?

“Your actions have consequences, Stiles. You could have gotten hurt,” Derek’s voice had an anger to it, but it was tinged with obvious anxiety, worry.

“Jesus Christ it wasn’t that big of a deal I cannot believe how much you’re overreacting,” Stiles said back, the shout gone from his voice but the edge still sharp.

John knew he couldn’t hide in the garage forever and breathed a heavy sigh before pushing the door open. Both boys flicked their gaze immediately to the Sheriff, mouths going silent. They stood across the kitchen from each other, Derek by the sink, Stiles by the table. John knew in his heart that they would never physically hurt each other, but he’d broken up enough domestic disturbances to know that keeping a fight verbal wasn’t always the case. He was pleased by their distance, somehow.

Still, the tension in the kitchen was harsh and John wasn’t used to this feeling inside of his home. He and Stiles rarely ever fought, beyond a normal father/teenage son disagreement. Generally his home was warm and quiet, maybe with a baseball game coming out of the speakers of the living room TV, maybe with these two kids half asleep on the couch. John got enough drama at work. He didn’t want to come home to it too.

“I don’t mean to be walking in on something I shouldn’t be walking in on,” John said raising his hands, palms forward in peace. Derek let a huff of breath out through his nose, Stiles crossed his arms tight across his chest. They both went from angry to petulant the moment they were caught.

There were two beats of silence before Stiles let out a nearly audible eye roll.

“Well, I’m done with this for now,” Stiles said, voice full of annoyance as he turned and started walking out of the kitchen, heading toward his bedroom - where Derek still wasn’t allowed to be.

“You can’t just walk away-” Derek started before being cut off.

“Yes. Yes I can,” Stiles said, turning at the threshold of the kitchen to look Derek straight in the eye when he said it. His face was hard and cold. He avoided his father’s gaze completely. He knew he was acting like a child if he couldn’t meet his dad’s eyes.

As soon as Stiles was gone from Derek’s line of sight, his body turned in on itself, shoulders sagging, looking smaller than John had ever seen him as he leaned against the sink. The atmosphere of the kitchen broke violently around them, and John felt like he was walking on shards of glass, the silence pressing in on them, reminding them both of the mess that still needed cleaning up. John watched Derek push the sleeves of his shirt up before raking his hands slowly over his face. His brain was clearly engaged in a what-went-wrong play-by-play.

“Alright, so what happened?” John asked, his voice exasperated as he crossed the kitchen to grab two beers from the fridge. He twisted the tops off both before handing one to Derek, who took a sip and forced a tight smile at the Sheriff. John took a much needed swig of his own.

“He drove over to my place after school,” Derek started, eyes on his hands. This was typical. Stiles was always over at Derek’s place. John tried not to think about it too much. “He didn’t get any sleep last night. He’s been awake for-” he pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket to check the time, “almost twenty-six hours - and that’s only after the nap he took after school yesterday. He shouldn’t have been behind the wheel. He almost fell asleep standing up when he got there.”

John’s heart softened at his confession. He understood now why Stiles had looked so petulant. He knew that Stiles struggled a little with Derek being older than him - struggled with feeling like he was being taken seriously. He hated feeling like a little kid. He resisted when Derek did protective things, but never hesitated to be the protector. John knew this was one of his own traits he’d passed on to his son.

“I didn’t let him drive back here,” Derek said, explaining the absence of the Jeep in the driveway. “He tried to get back into his Jeep to drive home, but I took his keys. He was - he was livid. Almost walked home.”

“Well, thank you for taking his keys,” John said, downing another mouthful of his IPA. He paused a second. “I thought his sleeping had been getting better lately - was it just last night, or is there a pattern?”

“It seems like at least one night a week he has trouble,” Derek said. He would love more than anything the opportunity to hold Stiles in his arms when he can’t sleep. Nothing made him more frustrated with having to obey the Sheriff’s boundaries than not being able to offer Stiles his comfort.

“Do you think he’s depressed?” John asked, voice dipping into confusion. Whenever he saw Stiles he looked happy - but he wasn’t stupid enough to think that just because his kid looked happy every once in awhile that he wasn’t hiding something. He knew Stiles was good at that. He knew Stiles still had secrets.

“No,” Derek said. “I think he’s just bad at taking his adderall on schedule.” Derek shook his head, almost smiling, fond. John took the last swig from his beer and checked his watch. It had been long enough for Stiles to cool down a little. Trying to talk to Stiles when he was upset wasn’t productive. John usually gave him at least five minutes to himself.

“I’m going to go talk to my kid - wait here,” he said, gesturing casually to the kitchen table. He set his empty bottle on the counter and headed up the stairs.

He knocked before entering, finding Stiles sitting at his desk taking apart a clicky ball point pen, clearly trying to keep himself awake or distracted. John could see his sleepy hands fumbling with a spring.

“You’ve been having trouble sleeping?” John asked and Stiles turned to him and rolled his eyes, leaving his pen pieces in a pile on his desk.

“Sometimes I wish some people would _mind their own business_ ,” he said, raising his voice toward the end of his sentence so Derek could hear - even though Stiles knew he’d be able to hear this whole conversation anyway.

“You’ve got some serious bags happening under your eyes,” John said, leaning up against the door jamb and crossing his arms over his chest. He almost added a ‘kiddo’ at the end of that, but he bit his tongue. He knew it wouldn’t be appreciated, and might ricochet back onto Derek. He relationship with Stiles’ boyfriend was going...okay, given the circumstances. He didn’t want to mess it up. “Should I make you a doctor’s appointment?”

“I’m fine, Dad,” Stiles said, his voice clearly tired. He let his face drop to his hands as he let out a colossal sigh. Maybe a little dramatic, but hey - he loved his kid, dramatic sighs and all. “Just a little tired.”

“You want to talk about what happened down there?” John asked, nodding his head toward the direction of the stairs. Stiles’ shoulders sank deeper.

“I’m not a child,” Stiles said, barely loud enough for his dad to hear.

“He doesn’t think you’re a child. He just cares about you,” John said, trying not to put words into Derek’s mouth, but still trying to give Stiles some perspective. “And driving when you’re this tired is as bad as driving drunk. You know that.”

“I was completely fine,” Stiles said, his voice tingeing with annoyance again.

“You know, being in a relationship is about letting the other person take care of you sometimes. You take care of him even when you don’t realize that’s what you’re doing. Let him care back. Don’t push him away.”

Stiles spun a slow 360˚ in his desk chair, trying to look bored so his dad would get the point. He was already starting to feel guilty about yelling at Derek, but he wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

“Keep in the forefront of your mind the fact that you’re the most important thing in his life. Think about that when he’s trying to keep you safe.” Because everyone he’s ever loved has already died and he doesn’t want that to happen to you too, was the undercurrent. Because you’re the most important thing to me too, kid.

“Fine,” Stiles said reluctantly, pushing himself out of his chair, steadying his slightly dizzy steps with a hand on his desk. He shuffled down stairs slowly, dread of his impending apology swimming thick around him. John followed him down the stairs back into the kitchen where Derek was sitting at the kitchen table, peeling the label off his nearly empty beer bottle.

“I’m going to grab something for dinner - you two better have this sorted out when I come back,” he said, using this excuse to get the meal that he wanted without his son trying to wrestle a burger out of his hands - and to get out of that house for fifteen minutes.

The kitchen door shut behind John, and his son stood in the middle of the kitchen looking anxious and bashful.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he said, eyes to the ground.   
  
“I love you,” Derek said. “You can yell at me all you want. You can call me terrible names, you can resent me. But you are never allowed to intentionally put yourself in danger, do you understand? Because you’re it. I’ve survived a lot. But if something happened to you-” his voice was thick, like the words took up physical space in his throat.

Stiles looked up to meet Derek’s eyes, huge and open and frightened. He hadn’t realized how scared he’d made him.

“I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just, I don’t know, couldn’t get to sleep last night, I didn’t think it was a big deal.” He crossed his arms in front of himself protectively.

“If you have trouble sleeping, call me. I’ll drive you to school. I’ll pick you up from practice. I’ll bring you to Target to buy mangos and Mountain Dew or whatever you think you need to be driving for just please take care of yourself, for me.” Derek slumped in his kitchen chair, the fight completely gone from him. Stiles’ dad knew him well - he needed that cool down. His head felt like it was on right again. He knew he’d been stupid. He knew it was time to fold.

“Okay,” Stiles said, and Derek’s body immediately straightened.

“Okay?” he asked. “Just - that’s it, you agree?”

“Yeah. I mean, fine. I just. I don’t like feeling like you think you have to constantly take care of me cause I’m some dumb kid. I can take care of myself. So please don’t blow up at me when I do something that I don’t even think is dangerous. Don’t just skip to blind anger.” Stiles uncrossed his arms, letting them hang at his sides, defeated.

“I don’t think you’re a kid I have to take care of,” Derek said simply. “You’re a person I care about who cares about me.” Derek stood up from his seat, rounded the table, and pressed Stiles back into the kitchen counter, hands secure on his hips.

Stiles sighed, calmed just by Derek’s proximity. His annoyance was dripping away; he couldn’t be mad at Derek when they were pressed together like this. He could feel his anger sluicing off of him as he wrapped his arms around Derek’s shoulders.

-

****

John came home with two bags full of ridiculous junk food - and a chocolate shake for himself. He deserved it. He paused again at the kitchen door before entering, planning on running to the hills (or rather back to the station for a few hours to catch up on paperwork) if he still heard them arguing. But it was quiet.

He opened it to see Stiles sitting on the kitchen counter, hands cradling Derek’s face gently as he pressed kiss after kiss to Derek’s lips. Derek’s hands were loose on Stiles’ hips, face tilted up almost in surrender. Stiles’ eyes were closed, and he didn’t even bother acknowledging the sound of the kitchen door opening, lost in the kiss. John was fine with that. His kitchen had that warm feeling back, as though it had agreed never to talk about this fight again.

“Ahem,” John said, holding up a bag of food. “Take a breath, boys. Time for dinner.”

Derek pulled away reluctantly and blushed just enough to be polite. Stiles just looked happy and smug, hands dropping to Derek’s shoulders, fingers drumming lightly on them a bit before gently nudging Derek just far enough away from him to be able to jump down from the counter.

Whatever balance John had been seeking, whatever equilibrium that had been thrown off by the fight, was gone, leaving a fresh clean feeling in the air. He was proud of his son, not just for resolving his fight and for apologizing, but also for choosing to be with someone who gives him balance. Derek was careful where Stiles was impulsive. Stiles was fun where Derek was solemn. They were good for each other.

“Burgers,” John said, unpacking one of the bags at the table, sliding a burger to each of their respective places. “Curly fries, apple pies.”

They sat and ate, Stiles holding his tongue about his dad’s cholesterol but little else. John was always much happier to hear about Stiles’ school and lacrosse news than to have to rehash his own day. John kept catching the little looks the boys were giving each other over the kitchen table, thinking they were being coy with the love they had for each other in their eyes.

Thinking about Stiles growing up, getting older, gave John the same sad and anxious feeling he suspected that most parents felt when their child hit their late teens. But he watched Stiles revel in the victory of good choices, and learn from bad. He watched he and Scott pelt lacrosse balls at each other in the back yard laughing like twelve year olds but swearing like sailors. He watched Stiles make futile attempts at hiding small bits of weed in his room that John chose to pretend he’d never found. And now he got to watch Derek get his own footing too.

It wasn’t a good night, exactly. And maybe it was the greasy burger and the chocolate shake, but John couldn’t help thinking that things could have been much, much worse.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone who has been following this and encouraging me. The little notes you leave me warm my heart <3 
> 
> I reblog a lot of cute Dylan O'Brien on my [tumblr](http://hannahisawolf.tumblr.com). Oh, and you can send me a request/prompt too if you want :]


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